Vous Et Nul Autre
by kaimaru
Summary: You and No Other. A BZHG! Staying in France, Hermione provokes the attention of the Wizarding Court. Designer labels, masque balls, late night excursions, and an alias or two... whilst trouble follows her where ever she goes.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is complete property of J.K. Rowling, and not myself. This goes for the entire story!

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**"Vous Et Nul Autre" - You and No Other**

**By Kaimaru**

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Every muscle in Hermione's body ached as she slowly awoke, sliding both palms on either side of her head and pressing them in to the cold floor to prop herself up. Her joints creaked and her damp clothes stuck uncomfortably to her stiff body. She groaned. While shoving her bushy mass of chocolate curls behind her shoulders, Hermione blinked a few times before the united mass of night slowly expanded in to individual shadows, shapes, and the black abyss of either end of a wide corridor. 

The corridor seemed as wide as it seemed high, multiple double-doors evenly spaced and a ghostly, porcelin chessboard flooring peaking out from beneath a strip of mauve carpeting blanketing the middle. Large, gilded frames were propped on the walls, but they were all empty with the exception of one, the closest to her.

The painter's style, as well as the girl's clothing, she recognized as French aristocracy, pre-French Revolution. A young woman sat dozing in a window sette, her chest rising and falling in gentle breaths. Her heavy gowns draped around her form like soft, purple clouds, but unlike her fellow Parisian courtesans, her dark hair rained down her back in unbridled glory and her face unblemished with pale chalks and rouge. Behind her, the countryside was dim, nocturnal, and peaceful.

"What in Merlin's name..." Hermione muttered to herself. Her brow wrinkled in thought. How did she get here? Last thing she could remember, she had been at home, studying...

Voldermort must be behind this, she thought darkly. But why would he leave her unguarded, in a hallway no less, if he had kidnapped her? It could be a trap, but the only purpose the Dark Lord would have to capture her would be to bait Harry. And if that were so, he would of killed her already. She was of no use to him alive, afterall. So...

"Hey, you. Girl!" Hermione spun in the direction of the voice, hearing a soft giggle. No one else in the hallway, only her and the portrait. She glanced again at the almst obscured painting only to see the girl grinning, fully awake, eyes focused on her. The girl giggled again. "Yes, I mean you."

Hermione watched her wearily as she swung her feet to the painted wooden floor, revealing delicate gold slippers, while bending forward excitely. "Where are you from, mademoiselle?" She spoke with a girly French lilt that reminded her of Fleur Weasley, but Hermione felt, if not saw, the good-natured mischief of the portrait. "Surely your lover plans not to meet you in these dank and chilly hallway, with so many empty, laviscious rooms."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up. L-Lover?

"I'm lost." She confessed.

The portrait girl clucked. "Never a wise choice to stray from the, uh, pack in a strange place, mademoiselle." She reprimanded. "A wonderful, handsome theif may steal you away to distant lands of beauty and wealth, and steal your heart as well. Or something of the like. Who would save you then, _non_?"

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't fend off a grin. "I don't think a 'something of the like' would be much of a bother." She laughed.

"Oui. How about warts and foul temper?"

"How's his personality?"

"So-so." She shrugged, smiling.

"Could be worse. He could be dumb."

"Oui. And would be a great, great tragedy for us clever, young beauties. For us to have no one to spar our wits with in a most unappreaciative world of warty, foolish husbands." She sniffed daintily at the outrage. "Tis ever thus."

"Could you tell me," Hermione paused, searching the dark hallway for any other signs of life. "Where everyone has gone?"

The french girl nodded jubilantly. "To the ball, of course!"

Hermione jerked her head towards the girl. "Ball?" She said incredulously.

"Oui. Is that not what you are here for? I admit, your costume is very strange, but I do not recognize you still. A foreign princess, maybe?"

"Ye-no. Actually, I haven't a clue how I came here." Hermione shoved herself to her feet, and as the blood rushed to her head she fought the waves of dizziness. "I was home, studying in my room when-"

"Studying!" The girl cried, followed by a string of foriegn curses Hermione couldn't

follow. "On a night such as this, a young woman shouldn't be banished with her studies. She must be dancing, flirting, celebrating her youth!"

"I didn't know there was a dance-" Hermione reminded her, slightly annoyed.

"Pah! That is no excuse." She waved it off with her hand.

"Well, if I have no idea where I am, when I am, whom I'm with, how can I be worried about a silly - " Hermione stopped as voices echoed through the corridor- Both male, and approaching quickly. She turned just as the portrait's eyes widened in delight before catching Hermione's wide-eyed, frightened expression. "Do not fear, miss Granger." She spoke softly, smiling if a bit smugly. "When the mademoiselle cannot find the theif, then, of course, the thief must find her."

Hermione squelched the terrified scream jumping to her throat as the footfalls on the carpet abruptly halted and the voices died away. Her back was turned to them, and she could be hit by curses without any defense, so she turned to face them head on, chin raised. However, instead of men in death-eater robes and wands drawn stood two men in rich, extravagent costumes and masks, staring at her in surprise.

"Granger?"

"Hermione?"

Hermione gulped, taking her chances as she turned the opposite way and ran. But within a few meters, a dark shadow loomed over her again, a gloved hand snatching her wrist. Brisk shouts of, "a spy! Spy!" Filled the corridors. She struggled, but the shadow didn't relent, speaking so lowly she couldn't understand its commands. Inhaling deeply, Hermione's prepared to scream, too frightened to think clearly. Only images of manicial, blood-thirsty death eaters and their pale, snake-like leader filling her mind's eye with desperation. Then, her heart leapt as the shadows melted in to an obscured, masked face pressing intimately against hers in a matter of moments, like a Dementor's kiss. Warmth spread through her; she couldn't move. Death didn't feel like this.

CRASH

Hermione jerked away, carmel-colored eyes wide and breathing heavily. But the dim, chilly hallway was gone, replaced by her tidy bedroom, a light breeze ruffling her lace curtains and sunlight casting designs against the pale carpeting. In the middle of the room, pushed against the opposite wall, her queen bed remained disused, and the digital clock on the night stand displayed 10:11am in bright red numbers.

Blinking a few times, Hermione exhaled deeply, shoving a hand through her thick hair. Just a dream. Feeling her heart slowly regain it's even tempo, and repeating 'just a dream' like a mantra in her head, Hermione felt her mind return from her nightmare waltz with death to reality. But she hadn't died, and the shadow certainly hadn't been trying to kill her. It hadn't done anything besides...

Fingertips pressed to her lips in memory, she felt her cheeks warm.

He-it kissed her! Groaning lowly, she pushed away from her desk. She rarely had dreams of that nature, much less one containing Death eaters. They were probably the least romantic beings in existence, right up there with the Dementors and Voldermort himself. Ron and Harry would right out have a laughing fit if they knew! Not that she would ever tell them- of that she could be certain. But why couldn't it have been Charlie Weasley? Or Viktor Krum?

Wait. What am I thinking? She smiled to herself, shaking her head. Both were completely off-limits. Yet entertaing thoughts of the free-spirited, adventurous Charlie and a passionate Viktor for a few dreamy moments elevated her mood slightly. But they still were off-limits.

Glancing down, her Ancient Runes textbook lay wide-open on her desktop, her notes to the right. She had written two full pages of notes and half of a third before the the 'K' in 'Berkana' made a jagged descent across the parchment. She must of fallen asleep part-way through her studies. The last memory she had before passing out had been the faintest hints of the sunrise to the East outside her second-story window. She still had another seven and a half pages to go before she could begin the project for the class.

Bending to scoop her eagle owl quill off the floor and placing it back in it's inkwell, she stood and stretched her arms overhead, working out the kinks her unusual sleep position had produced. Deciding it would be better to have some breakfast and take a quick shower before getting back to her homework would be more productive, she exited her room and walked towards the stairs at the end of the hall.

This hadn't been the first night she'd fallen asleep at her desk. School had just ended two weeks ago, and Hermione had dutifully divided her time between her own homework and researching hexes and defensive spells that could be handy in the pending months. There wasn't a doubt in her mind the final battle between Harry and Voldermort would happen before their graduation from Hogwarts. In less than a year, all of them - friend, family, or foe - would be fighting for their lives. Hermione knew they could only prepare, anticipate, and support each other the best they could, but more often than not, even that didn't seem like it was doing enough. So Hermione studied, memorizing spells until her mind felt more like a codex than a brain, and owling recent developments and possible clues about the Horcruxes to the Order. Although it made her summer a bit reclusive, locked away in dusty libraries and collapsed on her desk by the end of the night, she knew it was nessacary.

Her mum's voice floated up the bent stairwell. "It's all right, dear. Accidents happen." Hermione titled her head curiously, slowly descending the wide stairs as the conversation became clearer.

"We weren't expecting any visitors this early." Her father chuckled. "No one makes an enterance quite like you do, Maeve."

"I do hope that is meant as a compliment, Matthew." The voice spoke clearly and melodically, with a warm french accent. "It must have been years since anyone besides my dear Aliana has apparated in your home."

The stairs ended in the foyer, and Hermione could see her mum bent over a pile of broken teacups with a dustbin and brush in hand. Hermione realized this must of been the crash that woke her up from her dream. "More often then you think. Hermione has friends flitting in and out every weekend."

"Suitors?"

Her father stood off to the side, listening to the turn the conversation had taken with unabashed amusement. A lithe, elderly woman with curly silver hair pulled back in a plait stood just inside the doorway, wearing a matching burgundy designer blazer and pant set. A large, unorthodox hat adorned her head, wrapped with pink swathes of pink and yellow fabric and decorated with little songbirds charmed to flit about and chirp drooping over her twinkling dark green eyes.

Aliana chuckled. "Don't get too excited, mum. Hermione's more focused on her studies than any cute boys right now."

Hermione instantly recognized the elderly woman, and in her surprise, exclaiming, "_Grandmaman_?"

Three sets of eyes lifted immediately to meet hers. Hermione noticed the wand lightly clasped in her grandmama's hand do an indiscrete _swish, swish, flick_ and the mess her mother had been cleaning disspeared as well as the dustbin and brush.

Hermione's grandma never broke eye contact with her grinning grand-daughter, and returned it with a bright smile of her own. "Hermione, _ma belle petite-fille_. You've grown!" She paused, and Hermione followed her line of vision to Ron's huge, worn-out Chudley Cannons jersey and the pair of shorts she had worn to bed last night. She figured her hair looked awful as well. "Darling, what _are_ you wearing?"

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So did I fool anyone with the opening? I was hoping it would be a (small, very small) plot twist. And I managed to introduce her grandmother in this chapter! Honestly, I'm exhausted after writing this, but this is the best form of procrastination. Clean house? vacuum? Organize the bookshelves? wha:-) Hope it wasn't too bad. This is my first attempt at a long-term HP fanfic and my second attempt at a HP fic _in general_. So wish me luck! 

French/English Dictionary:

_Oui _- Yes

_Non_ - No

_Mademoiselle_ - Miss

_ma belle petite-fille _- my beautiful grand-daughter

_Grandmaman_ - Grandmama

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Published June 8, 2007 

2,132 Words


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_**"The future has a way of arriving unannounced."  
- George Will**_

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Twenty minutes later, Hermione came downstairs after a quick shower. Pinning back her hair in a messy bun and donning a pair of jeans and lavender camisole, she glanced momentarily at the long mirror perched on the backside of the door, analyzing her appearance, before exiting the bathroom and going the stairs two steps at a time. She was eager to hear what her grandmother had to say; Hermione knew without a doubt her grandma had a reason for coming. A good, satisfying reason, in fact, because an owl or muggle letter would have sufficed had it been for a party invitation or a simple how-are-you greeting. 

As she neared the foot of the stairs, she spotted her grandmother's charmed hat hanging from the coat rack, and she shook her head, grinning, as the songbirds launched in to a merry version of "Auld Lang Syne" as she passed by. That song would forever remind her of The Weasley twins' table-top rendition and off-key singing one very merry Saturday night at the Burrow, as well as Ginny hopping up on the table to join them. With the tune slowly fading while crossing the living room, her senses instantly became aware of the light scent of freshly brewed coffee and the merry din of polite conversation just before she entered the kitchen.

Her family had gathered around the small circular table situated off to the right and underneath a large window. An empty chair occupied the space next to her grandmama, while her parents had their backs to the door, hands and fingers interwoven under the table.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted, scooping up a pastry from the overflowing plate and taking a seat. "Did I miss anything?"

"You look more refreshed, 'mione." Her mom remarked. "Your grandmama was just telling us about a party she attended in the Alps last weekend."

"An old friend of mine throwing a birthday party for her husband. He just turned 143, you see." Maeve explained, sipping daintily on her coffee. Hermione knew it was half and half- just like she drank hers. "I believe over two hundred guests were there. Alexandra had hired all sorts of performers to entertain, and this wonderful symphony played throughout the night."

"Symphony?" Hermione repeated, interested. "A whole symphony?"

"Enchanted instruments, of course." Maeve replied. "They were orchestrated by a young elf named Gerard Humpledinks."

"I remember him," Hermione remarked. "He's a prominient figure in the equal rights campaign for magical creatures- the one Remus Lupin campaigns with."

"Wasn't he the elf that graduated as valedictorian last year from a Spanish university?" Her mom asked delicately. "Hermione raised quite a fuss about those wizarding families arguing with the dean, saying Senior Humpledinks wasn't qualified for valedictorian."

"Yes, because he was an elf." Hermione scowled darkly.

Maeve nodded. "Yes, and I'm certainly glad Mr. Castelle didn't give in." Patting her grand-daughter's hand comfortingly, "I remember your letters and petitions you sent, too. Some families are too resistant to changes, I agree. They were especially persuasive in Mr. Castelle's argument, he was very impressed." Hermione blushed, slowly averting her eyes and connecting with her mum's pointed gaze.

"_Petitions_, Hermione?" She asked sternly.

"I had to do _something_," She defended huffily. "There were over two hundred signatures before I even sent them to grandmama. And, because of them, Gerard graduated valedictorian."

"But you shouldn't use your grandmother's position to your advantage." She countered. "And I said no more sit-ins or petitions until you've graduated. Especially not after last year's incident at Flourish and Blotts." Anger flashed through her emerald eyes- not at her daughter, but at the memory.

"Mum, I can't just-" Hermione began urgently, squaring her shoulders.

Maeve's voice cut through the din. "Now, now. Aliana, Hermione. I never would do what I don't agree with. I'm not that old or senile yet." Maeve reminded primly, as mother and daughter settled back in their seats guiltily. Maeve noted their identical expressions ruefully. "I believe in Hermione's causes, and all turned out for the best, did it not?"

"So what happened at this party?" Her dad spoke after a few moments and the danger had passed. Having learned ages ago to stay out of both mother and daughter's way during their rows- lest he forfeit a limb or two. Maeve smiled.

"Ah, yes. While I was there, Alexandra inquired after the state of my affairs."

"'State of your affairs?'" Aliana echoed, setting down her teacup. "Whatever does she mean?"

Maeve leveled her eyes with her daughter, pale green eyes caught with hidden meanings. She had purposely led the conversation in this direction, and finding her breech to pursue it, prepared herself for the storm to come. "My heir."

Hermione saw the slight widening of her mum's emerald eyes as they flickered in her direction momentarily before returning to Maeve's. Emotions jumbling together in her dark gaze, Hermione felt, rather than deciphered, the intensity of her mother's feelings. Fear. Love. Helplessness. Then Aliana's brow furrowed determinedly, as her own was prone to do in dire situations, and ferverently began searching her own mother's eyes from the answers she sought.

A heir. Aliana was her grandmother's only child, but she would never become an heiress. Aliana wouldn't return to wizarding court for the life of her. Hermione never understood why. Her mother had once been the belle of Wizarding court. She had been invited to every party, gala, and brunch, dressed in tailored gowns and surrounded by her glamourous friends. She had always assumed the pretension had made her plain-spoken mother crazy. Hermione had asked once, a long time ago when she was but a child, and her head filled with fairy tale notions of true love and royalty, why she hadn't stayed and married a handsome prince. But her mum only shook her head, smiled ruefully, and replied, "because there weren't any princes." Grandma knew her mum well, so she couldn't possibly be proposing her mum go back...

Hermione watched as the two women stared silently at one another, exchanging gazes filled with emotions- Her grandmama's gaze cool determination, and her mother's inquisitive and intense.

She glanced at her father and caught his eyes. Apprehension gripped her stomach. Something wafted just beneath the surface of his gaze, but Hermione couldn't quite shake the feeling this had something to do with her... and Grandmama, Dad, and Mum all knew what it was.

And then, her grandma nodded her head and Aliana slowly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. As if sensing her distress, her father leaned closer to her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. Hermione sat awkwardly alone in her chair, feeling completely clueless. Something just happened, both obvious and discreet, yet she hadn't a clue what 'it' was. Had her mother just agreed?

Hermione watched in silence as her parents held hands tightly and her grandma languidly picked up her teacup, bordering on standing up and demanding what was the matter. Her fingers twitched, but before she could burst, Maeve put the cup to her lips and, after a moment, spoke.

"I knew Aliana would not return to the wizarding court. Her place is in the muggle world and with you, Matthew, as it always has been." She spoke sagely, "I expected no less by coming here, but as fate wills it, there are very few people with whom I would trust not to use my wealth for the wrong purposes and neglect my duties. The wizarding world is gripped in a struggle for power, and every class, rich and poor, is corrupted by Voldermort's cause. Times are perilous, and I can't leave my fate or that of others so unguarded."

"And since I refuse my birthright," Aliana spoke low, but clear. She met her daughter's rounded chocolate gaze, tracing the outlines of her young face with conflicted eyes. "It falls to you, Hermione."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Me?"

"I need someone I trust, someone of quick-wit and cleverness, and who will not be swayed to the dark side either by fear or promise." Grandmama said, locking gazes with her spirited granddaughter. "And she must be brave in the face of adversity. And you've proved time and time again to me, Hermione, that you will do me proud. I'm asking you to be my heir, as both my first and best choice."

Hermione felt her breath come as quick intakes and exhales, eyes shifting from each member of her family, searching for an absurd expression, a smile about the break the grim line of her mum's lips- Nothing changed, and she felt reality drop its heavy load on her shoulders.

Her. A _heiress_. And not just any heiress; Her, a half-blood know-it-all to inherit everything from one of the wealthiest landowners in the wizarding word. - She would be a _wizarding heiress_. How could she, of all the witches in the world,be an heiress? The least prepared, obviously- "I..." She breathed. She didn't know the first thing about being a heiress, for Merlin's sake! Her mind worked frantically, mouth opening to decline, tell her she had the wrong girl. "Why now?" She blurted. "Why now- why..." Her voice died down. "What could I do to help you?"

Maeve's softened eyes and the French flowing eloquently from her lips, ensconed her pounding heart in reassuring warmth. The undercurrent meaning wasn't lost to Hermione, merely ignored. "_More than you know_."

* * *

Hermione sighed contently, turning the page and continuing with fervent pleasure.Shadows of birds flitting by the window and branches heavy with leaves danced on the rich oriental rug, their summery sounds drifting through the screen, but were throughly ignored by the room's sole occupant.__

And in our own blood drenched the pen,  
As if such colours could not fly.  
We walked too straight for fortune's end,  
We loved too true to keep a friend ;

A tendril of springly chocolately hair drifted in to obstruction, and she hastily pushed it behind her ear. Hermione knew just down the hall, her parents were still immersed in discussion with her grandmother. Every now and then, her father's deeply British voice would resound through the walls before the murmur of native French resumed. She had taken great pains to ignore them since she had left the kitchen almost an hour ago, choosing to ignore the inevitable for a few hours. She hadn't noticed the 'meeting' had dispersed quite some time ago.__

At last we're tired, my heart and I-'

Hermione's head tilted towards the double-doors of the library after two light knocks on their surface, surprised. "Come in!" She called. Her mum appeared between the crevice of light between the two oak doors, smiling at her daughter.

"In the library again, Mi?" She teased."You must've read every book at least twice."

"No," She replied, shaking her head in the negative. "Three, actually. But I haven't finished my texts from school yet."

"Yet."

"Yet." She agreed. They looked at each other with smiles on their faces and, for a short moment, Hermione could almost forget the unusual turn her morning had taken. For now, she was just Hermione Granger. **Just **Hermione.

As her mum settled on the cushions next to her, a rare nervous expression flitted over her mum's pretty features, and Hermione knew. Carefully replacing the bookmark, she closed her book and turned towards her mother.

"I don't know anything about being an heiress, _maman_."

"No one does in the beginning." She touched Hermione's hand and lightly grasped it in her own. "It's just like walking. You stumble and fall in the beginning, but if you take it one step at a time, you'll be running before you know it."

"But there's millions of ways I could offend someone. I could trip and fall in front of a room full of people, or-" She burst loudly. Millions of scenarios played in her head as if she had hit the fast-forward button, and head spinning-

Then Aliana laughed. "Hermione, they're just people. They're rich and usually snobbish, yes. But," She grinned at her daughter's undignified snort of agreement, "no different than you and I. You don't have to change who you are to make anyone proud, especially not us. We already think you're wonderful."

Hermione pinned her with the 'look.' "You're my mum- You _have _to say that."

"No," she disagreed. "Because as your mum, I'm telling you I love you reguardless of who you choose to be." She smiled softly. "If you're a heiress or just Hermione, you will always be my daughter. And if you ever need me, I will be there to protect you if you should need it."

Hermione felt warmth flooding the back of her eyes, matching her mother's teary gaze. And without hesitation, she flung herself in her mum's embrace. "Mum..." She whispered in Aliana's thick, curly brown hair. "Thank you."

Both of them hugged each other for a long time, trading strength and fear in confidence, before Aliana slowly drew away to cup Hermione's chin within a gentle grip. "Mi, I must tell you something." Hermione eyes met hers inquistively, and she continued after a deep, fortifying breath. "I've talked to your grandmother about this, and she agrees. She is leaving for France in two days, and would like to take you with her for the rest of the summer."

"France?" Hermione asked. She nodded.

"Yes. While you're with her, she can teach you everything you need to know about being a Lumiet."

"But what will I tell Harry and Ron?" She exclaimed.

"That you are spending the summer with your grandmother. Nothing more, nothing less." Aliana advised.

"Why not?" Hermione watched her mother turn her head aside uncomfortably. "You aren't telling me something." She realized, pulling away.

"I can't tell you everything, Hermione." She sighed. "It is for your grandmother to tell, not me."

Hermione pressed her hands in to her thighs, clenching her fists, and apprehension filling her stomach for the second time that day. "But you know." She murmured.

Aliana felt her own heart clench, but pushed her emotions to the back of her mind so Hermione couldn't guess at her conflict. Merlin knows the girl was too perceptive for her peace of mind. _It's not right. I can't even warn my own daughter_!

"Hermione, you must be prepared for anything. These men and women will do anything to steal your secrets, and don't trust anyone but yourself. There are few friends to be found amongst the rich."

"Mum, why won't you return to France?" asks Hermione, lifting her chin and monitoring Aliana's every twitch and breath. Hermione's unruly hair had escaped the confines of her bun, ringlets dangling over her proud shoulders and shading her demanding eyes. She wasn't the naive child Aliana could outsmart with sugary diversions anymore. Hermione was as stubbourn as herself, and a young woman capable of fighting in a war. So instead of lying or fumbling with the truth, she only shook her head.

"I can't, Hermione. The wizarding court is dead to me, as I am to it." She replied. "My place is here."

Feeling hurt, as if something had peirced her heart with decided aim, her pulse thrummed angrily throughout her body. "Then I will do this on my own," Hermione declared. She rose quickly to her feet and retrieved the worn paperback from the couch, starting for the door. Aliana said nothing, watching her go. And then she slowed, stopping with a hand hovering above the doorknob. She didn't turn around. "Am I in danger, mum?" Hermione asked softly, abruptly.

Aliana swallowed the lump in her throat, hand hovering shakily over her nose and mouth. "Yes." She responded in a much quieter voice than normal. "You are very much in danger."

"Because I'm Harry Potter's best friend?" Hermione asked after a moment.

This time, Aliana shook her head. "No," her throat constricting painfully, "because you are Hermione Lumiet."

Hermione stood motionless for a moment, before wrenching the door open and passing through. She had taken three steps towards the staircase, and stopped. Maeve folded her hands before her, watching as the young woman hastily left the library before catching sight of her. Her brown eyes shimmered a pale gold in the dim afternoon light, her motions jerky and emotional. But determination radiated from her, and Maeve smiled knowingly.

Her heir took a shaky breath, but her voice was resolute. "I will go to France." She said.

Maeve nodded. "We leave at midnight on Sunday."

* * *

The poetry is an excerpt from Elizabeth Brownings' poem "My Heart and I." 

Thanks to:

AshleyEH- ten days later I'm hoping to updat every two weeks, so hopefully this was quick enough!

Kidakkia - I've only read a few myself, so I agree there aren't that many out there. But for how few there are, they are amazingly well-done.

Crazy About Him - THANK YOU SO MUCH! I think this may have been the best review I've ever received, and I'm very honored- to say the least! I will do my best to procrastinate as little as possible, especailly since I have more time now. And as for the "dark stranger," you'll just have to find out:P

Silent Kunoichi aka. Fiona - Thanks!

* * *

Published June 18, 2007 

2910 Words


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hastily shoving her door closed, Hermione fell against it and slid to the floor, arms coming up to encircle her knees. Her breath fell raggedly from her lips, and she hadn't yet controlled the thoughts and emotions bouncing crazily within her head. _Deep breaths_, she told herself sternly, forcing her mind to clear. _Big, deep breaths_.

For several moments, all she concentrated on was her breathing until she felt herself calming down.

"I have to think rationally about this." Hermione murmured. She leaned her head back against the wood, eyes falling closed. Like so many times before, her heart felt icy within the confines of her body. Akin to a confrontation against death-eaters or indirectly staring down a basilisk, the heady promise of danger and possible death frightened her. But her determination anchored her against it, just as it always had. She was stronger than this, she knew it.

Working systematically, Hermione sighed as her brain rifled through her day's experience, deciding to solve the most immediate of her problems.

In two days, she would be leaving for France with her Grandmother. And, presently, she'd have to write apologies to her friends for canceling their plans for the rest of the summer. Worse yet, she'd have to lie somewhat in her explainations. Hermione couldn't exactly tell them she would be studying to be an heiress to her grandmother, who, by the way, is actually a witch.

Her stomach sunk umpleasantly. She didn't even want to imagine Harry's or Ron's -or any of the Weasleys!- reaction when she told them the truth(as far as she was concerned, everyone else could just stuff it). Although she hadn't outright lied about who she was all these years, she hadn't exactly made an effort to tell the truth either. They knew her family was well-off and both her parents were dentists. They also knew both her parents were muggles- or, at least, living muggle lifestyles. But obviously, that left a few glaring omissions in her explaination.

For one, she was a halfblood. Not a muggleborn or, as Malfoy insisted, 'a mudblood.' She could trace her wizarding lineage back hundreds and hundreds of years in to the prestige of enchanted texts and biographies. And she had researched, of course, purely out of curiousity about her herritage than through any desire to boast of long-past ancestors. And a particular gory great, great, great uncle had confirmed her desire to keep fighting the good fight against purists like the Malfoys and feign a muggleborn past.

Secondly, being dentists didn't pay _that_ well. Her family was more than 'well-off' - They were very, _very_ rich. The Lumiet name came with more than its foreign appeal and instant pass to almost any 'worthwhile' party. Her grandmother was the wealthiest witch is France and had grand estates littering the countryside and townhouses in the city, in France as well as in Greece, Italy, America... just about everywhere. And despite her mother's efforts to refuse anything _Grandmaman_ attempted to offer finacially, on every birthday Hermione had received pocketfuls of galleons and imported sweets from all around the world as gifts.

Finally, Hermione knew plenty about the wizarding world: More than she obviously let on. It was assumed she had read about these things in books, but when her grandmama had visited, she told of grand adventures of famous witches and wizards, garnering old books with moving portraits etched on the pages, and epic stories from whence sprung Hermione's unmatched love of literature. However rare her visits to Diagon Alley or other wizarding towns as a child were, she had already established a love for both of the worlds in her life by a young age.

And Hermione considered herself blessed with her mismatched family and their quirky, eccentric natures. Her mother and father were deeply and truly in love, and they were caring parents. They were Hermione's prime example that muggles and purebloods could co-exist. Of course, not everyone was her rational, level-headed father, but if her mum could conquer muggle appliances without hexing them into oblivion, then there was hope enough. So she was half-blood! That wouldn't change who she was. She'd still be the same Hermione. Harry, Ron, Ginny... Anyone who truly cared about her wouldn't hold her family against her.

Hermione felt slightly less worried after that, setting her mind to tackling a new subject.

The wizarding court. Her grandmaman and mum hadn't ever gone too much in to detail about what it was like, and her father knew nothing at all, but she didn't doubt it was like any other kind of 'bred, higher society.' Why else would her mother refuse to return? And the prospect of being thrown in to a society of haughty, bigoted prats like the Malfoys and Parkinsons made her scowl. Not only would she have to act kindly, but she didn't think it would be proper for a 'respectable young lady' to give anyone a black-eye. No matter how deserving of said black-eye one was.

_Is this what the rest of my life will be like? _She suddenly thought forlornly. She would be a heiress. For the rest of her life, would she be thrust in to the limelight, dressed in frilly gowns and fancy jewelery, with decorum ruling over all else? It was a far cry from the future she had planned for herself. She had been tossing around ideas of becoming a healer or applying to the ministry, but as of late she had all but decided becoming an auror with Harry and Ron. Now, what hand did she have in her own fate? Soon enough, she wouldn't even be called Granger anymore. She'd be taking her grandmother's name once all the papers were signed.

She would then be Hermione Lumiet, the Half-blood heiress.

_And when the Daily Prophet catches wind of __**that**_she shuddered involuntarily. She didn't want to think about it. But it would be bad- VERY bad. Especially if the libelious Rita Skeeter covered the story.

Hermione dropped her head, knees supporting her forehead. It was too much. Everything. The lies, the truths, and her mothers words spinning in her brain like a broken and foreboding record.

_Because you are Hermione Lumiet_.

* * *

_Dear Harry, Ron, and Ginny:_

_How are all of you? School's been out for two weeks now, and my summer is looking to be all out of sorts already. Today my grandmother arrived from France, surprising all of us with her impromtu visit. My grandmother, as you may not know, is a wonderful and very wealthy, affluent woman. She is also very busy, which is why we found it unusual for her sudden appearance. She surprised us even further by extending an invitation to myself, asking if I would return with her to France for the rest of the summer. Under my circumstances, I find I can't deny her and I don't want to, for that matter. I'm sorry, but this means I won't be able to stay at the Burrow later this summer as I had planned. Tell Mrs. Weasley I'm sorry, will you?_

_Also, this means most of the research I'll have to leave to you lot. I've already been through a few spellbooks already, borrowed from Hogwarts with Madame Pince's permission along with a few purchases from Flourish and Blotts, yet nothing has proved extremely worthwhile. I've attached two lists to this letter for you: One of the books I've already searched through and the other, books which might contain something useful. I'm sorry to be leaving my share of work behind- I promise I'll do as much as I can in France, but I fear I won't have very much time with the plans my grandma's making. So I wish all of you the best of luck. And don't forget to start on your homework soon, you never know what may come up!_

_Much love,_

_Hermione_

Hermione sent her correspondences to the Burrow before turning in to bed, edging around the topic of her grandmother as much as possible without seeming too vague. After a fitful, restless sleep, she spent the next morning packing various belongings and shrinking her suitcases.

In the afternoon, she had tea with her grandmother since both her parents were at work, before heading back upstairs to work on her homework, uneasiness sinking in to her stomach after the encounter. Her grandmother had posed deliberate, innocent-seeming questions about house elves, purebloods, and anti-werewolf laws throughout tea, knowing Hermione would react passionately on the subjects, and she would calculate Hermione opinions with a nod of her head or a upward twitch of her lips. Maybe she was checking if Hermione really was suited to being her heiress, or maybe if the efforts grooming her in to the role were too many or too little and, at best, too risky to attempt. Hermione assumed she was being paranoid with her assumptions, but found it doubtful.

_Grandmaman is an intelligent woman, afterall_, she reasoned. _She wants to be sure I'm the right choice._ Hermione rolled on her stomach, brushing curls away from her eyes without pausing on the page. The hardcover edition of _A Tale of Two Cities _had been a present from her dad last Christmas, since her old copy had been falling apart since she must of read it over a hundred times since her eleventh birthday. The French Revolution enthralled her, the strength and brutality of the French mobs and the unrequited love of Sydney for Lucy, then Darnay and Lucy's love for one another. Her taped, repaired first copy she had hidden next to her bed, too attached to let the peice of yellowed literature be thrown aside for the new and improved. It was sentimental, afterall. The novel had kept her company through six hectic years at Hogwarts. _And if she decides I shouldn't be her heir, wouldn't that save me the trouble of explaining everything to Harry, Ginny, and Ron_?

She shook the thought vehemently from her head. No, she didn't want that. She wanted to prove herself worthy of being a Lumiet, and she knew it was too important a task to shy away from. Hermione knew if she didn't become Maeve's heir, her landownings would go to someone else, possibly someone awful (like a death-eater) by default. _Besides_, she thought, _if it were unimportant I become the Lumiet heir, why else would I be in danger_?

Sighing, she almost didn't notice her bare fireplace flare to life with green flames and she gasped in surprise. Cautiously sliding off the bed, Hermione cursed already packing her wand away, so she snatched the lamp off her bedside, brandished it before her, as she crept to the side of the fireplace to surprise the would-be attacker. Only a select few witches and wizards were aware her house had been connected to the Floo Network, and those allowed to pass through were even less, but Hermione wasn't about to take any chances. Death-Eaters were habitually, annoyingly privy to information they shouldn't have.

The fires went higher and with a puff of ashes, a young woman tumbled on to the rug, coughing loudly and a curtain of familiar auburn hair flopping over her face.

"Merlin, when did she last clean her fireplace?" She complained loudly in between coughing fits. "Ugh!"

Hermione stared at her unexpected guest, grip loosening on her weapon. "Ginny! What are you doing here?" She exclaimed.

The youngest Weasley peeked through her hair up at her dearest friend. "Are you planning to use that?" She asked pointedly.

"Don't be silly," Hermione laughed merrily, setting the lamp on the mantle and offering her a hand up. After righting herself, Ginny busily brushed her jeans and shirt free of the soot and pushed her hair over a shoulder. "I much prefer a good hex, anyway." Hermione grinned.

"Believe me, I'm well aware." Ginny teased.

"Ginerva Weasley!"

"That's Ginny to you, miss Granger!" She commanded playfully, then pinning Hermione with a look, a promise of a thorough interrogation in her eyes. "And I'm intervening in this decidely wicked plot of yours. Just _what _do you think you're doing?"

Hermione tilted her head, confused. "Gin, what are you talking about?" she demanded.

Extracted a wrinked peice of parchment from her jean's pocket and brandished it dangerously, like she had the lamp just a few moments ago, Hermione recognized the tidy script on the outside of the paper as her own, addressed to the Weasleys.

"You're planning on leaving me alone with Harry and Ron all summer! I want to know what you're _really_ planning." Ginny demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Forelocks swept to the side, Ginny had fashionably styled her hair so a few strands framed her cheeks and the rest of her dark red hair reaching a few inches below the slope of her shoulders. She shook her bangs out of her hair.

Hermione sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed and crossing her arms. "I'm going to France with my grandmother." She placated. "You read the letter?"

"Of course I did." She replied. "But it sounded suspicious. So I came to make sure you weren't plotting the downfall of Voldermort or something all by your lonesome."

"No," Hermione ruefully said, slowly grinning. "I'm planning something far, far more heinous."

Ginny, who had flopped on the swivel chair across from her, noticed her expression curiously. "Oh? And what would that be?" She asked.

Hermione bit her lip. For her parent's protection, she couldn't tell anyone the truth about the Lumiets and herself, but _grandmaman_ never said she couldn't drop hints. She trusted Ginny, and if she found out the truth by herself, a sole confidante would help...

"Next week, I'll be a heiress."

Ginny's eyes rounded. "An heiress?" She gasped, then voice becoming progressively louder. "_Next _week? Why so soon? To who? How-!"

"Quiet, Gin! It's a secret." She hissed, grinning at her friend's reaction despite herself. "Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear?"

"Why would you want to keep it a secret?" Ginny whispered excitedly, on the edge of her seat. "Merlin, if it were me, I'd be running down the streets, screaming and dancing, until they dragged me off to St. Mungo's!"

"Fancy collecting your money there, then?" Hermione teased. "Wonderful accomadations."

"Oh, stuff it." Ginny chuckled. "So why the secret keeping?"

"Well," Hermione shifted uncomfortably, "I'll inherit from my grandmother, and the less the newspapers know about my personal life the better. If they find out who and what I am, it could be disastrous. I'm taking my grandma's last name as a precaution, among other things." Hermione sighed.

"Does your grandmother know you're a- you know?" Ginny swished her hand about like performing magic with her wand. Hermione recognized the hand motions as _Wingardium leviosa_.

Hermione nodded. "She has a sixth sense for these things. Besides, my mum told her I was when I was first accepted in to Hogwarts. Otherwise I would've attended the boarding school both my mother and grandmother went to in France... _If_ my Hogwarts letter not come when it did." Hermione chose to leave out the small detail that 'the school' was Beaubaxtons. After reading Hogwarts, A History when she was eleven there was no other choice in Hermione's mind, conjoing her parents until they were convinced it was the only school for her.

"Wait. Mi, I never knew you were French!"

"Half-French," she ammended. "My dad's British."

"So why doesn't your mum inherit instead of you?" Ginny answered, slumping back in her seat and Hermione could practically feel the wheels turning in her head as she peiced everything together. "I mean, wouldn't she be more qualified or something like that?"

"She _is_ more qualified," Hermione agreed, "but she refused. She's happy with her life, and says fancy galas and pretentious gits aren't for her."

Ginny grinned. "'The apple falls not far from the tree.'" She quoted.

Hermione laughed. "Just what is that suppose mean?"

Ginny grinned. "Nothing." She replied. "So how does all this feel? No offense, but I know you Hermione- do you really _want _to be an heiress?"

Sighing, she brought her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them. "Honestly, I don't know- Not until I try it at least. I'm horribly biased as it is, knowing Malfoy all these years."

"But Viktor is rich, and he's not bad." Ginny interrupted. "And Harry's well-off, and he's better than okay." Hermione laughed at Ginny's wicked smile and dreamy eyes.

"In that case, you're biased too." Hermione pointed out.

"I know I am." Ginny laughed. "Continue?"

"And I think I'll have to act like someone I'm not. I'll dress up in fancy, uncomfortable gowns, act like I'm enjoying a gala when I'm definitely not and worrying if I've offended someone. And everything I do will be monitored- by security or the news or..." She sighed again. "I don't know if I would enjoy a life like that." Hermione felt a hand cover hers and squeeze, and lifted her eyes to meet Ginny's comforting gaze.

"Come now, Hermione. You're looking at the glass half-empty, and you said yourself you won't know if you like it until you've tried it." She said, coming to sit beside her on the bed. "Besides, you're oblivious to the opportunity being handed to you!" Catching Hermione's quirked brow and expectant face, she pushed forward excitedly, "Look, you're going to a different country where no one knows who you are or what you've done at Hogwarts. They only know your name."

"So?" She frowned. "I still have to act proper and-"

"Hermione," she interrupted sternly. "They can't make you do anything you don't want to- Believe me, I've tried. But I'm suggesting you be yourself. For once in your life, you don't have be the Gryffindor golden girl or a studious workaholic. Because I know you are way more than that. Remember the New Year's party we snuck off to last winter?" At the blush gracing Hermione's cheeks, Ginny grinned. "Exactly. You were relaxed and easy-going because no one there expected you to be anyone besides yourself. Be her."

"I was drunk!"

"Not the whole night." Ginny argued. "If I recall _correctly_, you were dancing long before you had any alcohol in you."

Hermione grumbled her defeat. "I happen to like dancing, thankyouverymuch."

"But the point is, you should enjoy it. It's your life to determine, not theirs. Wear jeans to a gala and tell any boy who dances too close to shove off- Millionaire or not."

"And if I happen to find one very manly and attractive?" She posed the question with a grin twisting her lips. "What would I do then?"

"Drag him in to the nearest closet and snog him senseless, of course!"

"Ron would have a heart attack if he heard his little sister speaking from experience." She laughed.

Ginny grinned. "What he don't know won't hurt him. After all, I never told Fred and George he snogged Pansy Parkinson after a Quidditch match last year. He owes me."

Hermione gasped. "He did _what_?"

"Aye. We beat Ravenclaw, and he had too much butterbeer before wandering in to the halls. I caught them on my way back from the kitchens and nearly died laughing. You should of seen his face the next morning when I teased him at breakfast, like a red balloon about to pop. Looks like Pansy has a bit of thing for him."

"I never knew." Hermione grinned. "I suppose next time we have a row, I should have to bring that up."

Ginny laughed. "Brilliant idea."

A knock on the door, and Hermione and Ginny shared a confused look. Ginny shrugged as Hermione stood and went to answer. Her grandmother waited on the other side, smiling. Her outfit looked muggle, a simple white, silk blouse and pastel blue slacks. She had donned a white, frilly apron over her clothes and it was smeared with batter and other unidentifiable markings. "Hi, grandma." She greeted

"I heard laughter and thought I'd come see what all the merriment is about." She said lightly, smiling as the red-head on the bed stood and approached them. "Hermione, I didn't know we had a visitor."

"You must of missed her coming in," Hermione replied slowly. "Grandma, this is Ginny Weasley, a friend from school. Gin, this is my grandmother."

"Hello, Miss Weasley. That sounds familiar..." She said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "Ah! Are you related to that boy- Ronald, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am." Ginny replied, smiling. "My older brother by a year."

Maeve nodded. "Hermione has spoken well about your family. You are a very lively bunch, it seems. Ronald is a wonderful friend to Hermione and my grand-daughter has even taken a leaf or two from the twins' book, I hear, keeping those awful neighbors of my daughter's at bay."

Ginny smile turned wicked and catching Hermione's eye as the elder girl blushed. "Oh, I don't doubt it." She laughed as Hermione glared playfully. "But, yes. My brothers and I all have our brief, shining moments of unrepentent glory."

"Ah, to be young." Maeve sighed wistfully. "Anyway, dearie, dinner is ready. Will you be staying, miss Weasley?"

"No, my mum is expecting me home, but thank you for the offer." Ginny replied sweetly. "But I'd like to request something, if you wouldn't mind."

"Ask away."

"Would it be alright if I visited Hermione this summer? I love my brothers all, but too much of them, exclusively, would result in their bodily harm. And Hermione might be needing a friend in France, I think."

"Why, I would have no objections to it. Hermione?" She asked.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, eyes bouncing between her friend and and grandmother. "I mean.."

"Of course! Every young woman needs a _confidante_." She replied, winking conspiratorily. Hermione blinked. _Did grandmaman just give me permission to.._? She couldn't help smiling. "Thank you, grandmaman."

She returned the smile. "No problem at all, _cherie_."

* * *

There! All done! Huzzah! This took awhile to write, but my self-inflicted deadline has arrived and left me wary but accomplished. It's a little shabbier than I had hoped, but it's not awful. This is a revised and rewritten version, since the first copy didn't flow properly. So. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next chapter: Hermione arrives in France! 

Thanks to:

Crazy About Him - You deserve it. :) And I like having everyone suspecting the grandmother is up to something, but still unpredictable about what that 'something' is. And as it turns out, the more I write, the less Harry and Ron are in it! Ironic, the namesake of Rowling's books is being ignored. **A lot**. Oooooh boy.

Punkchick18- You bet! Thank you very much.

x-xDodgerx-x (aka Benji) - I hope that's a good talent to own. I'll update reguardless of begging... well, most of time. ha ha

AshleyEH - Thank you! I'm glad to hear that. The story's still setting itself up, so there isn't as much as action but emotion. Hope this chapter is as good!

**Published July 2, 2007**

3,914 Word Count


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